You're the reason I write
I sit in charity dirt, my eyes casted away,
I weep in my own sorrows faultless display,
My eyes are mocked, for beauty in disguise,
I've been hurt, it's apparent in my eyes,
dismay your bright-eyed golden smile,
for it only pains me for a timeless while,
I write these poems to ease my sorrow,
each poem leads me to a different tomarrow,
my stale golden poetry runs though my veins,
though deep blood, my poetry stains.